


A Night At The Theatre and The Play After The Play

by Derien



Category: Psmith - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-02-01
Updated: 2005-02-01
Packaged: 2017-10-15 07:16:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/158384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Derien/pseuds/Derien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first chapter was written for a challenge of "Frustrating lust."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Come adjust this tie for me?"

"It looks perfect. The cab is waiting, come on, Psmith."

"Could you get my walking stick?"

"I have it - come along." Mike hated entering a theatre late; he felt everyone was staring and whispering about him and he got horribly embarrassed. "The tickets were expensive, we don't want to miss any."

"They're my expense," Psmith responded, smiling indulgently, "And if the cab charges a little more for waiting it might be worth my while." He put a hand against Mike's stomach and pressed lightly, pushing Mike back against the wall of the front hall and leaning in to steal a quick kiss, half on his mouth, running the tip of his tongue quickly over Mike's lower lip. "Alright, I'm ready, now."

Once in the cab he took every opportunity to slide across the seat and animatedly point out things, people or buildings on Mike's side so that their legs pressed tightly together. Mike murmured his responses and sat back firmly into the seat, hoping the driver wouldn't notice.

***

The lights were beginning to dim and the overture to play before they began to walk down the aisle.

"I can't believe you've done this to me again. They're all staring. I believe you like it."

"Done this to you? You're right, I do like it." He smiled lazily at Mike, and whispered as they slipped past people in their row, "They get to see what a lovely young man I walk in with."

Mike's face burned, but the corners of his mouth tugged.

After excusing themselves past half the row they found their seats, directly in the center, and finally got settled, Psmith draping his coat across the seat arm between them, barely in time. The curtain raised and Mike tried to forget his worries in the show. He was just beginning to manage it, too, when he felt something on his leg. He almost jumped, thinking it was an insect, before it became a more firm touch and he realized it was a finger tracing up the outside seam of his pants leg. He glanced sideways. Psmith's face seemed quite enrapt by the action on the stage. Mike glanced around, then down at the coat, realizing it hid Psmith's hand quite well from the patrons to either side, then went back to trying unsuccessfully to concentrate on the play.

Psmith spent the entire first act moving his fingertips slowly up and down the seam, then around Mike's knee in little circles, massaging in a way that seemed fit to make the muscles of the knee melt. When his fingers began to move up the inseam, though, Mike seized his hand and held it tightly.

He leaned over, close to Mike's ear. "Enjoying the show?" he whispered, mischievously.

Mike's mouth was dry, but he managed to croak, "Yes. Very much."

"Good. I think it's quite engaging, myself." His warm breath tickled on Mike's ear.

At intermission Mike excused himself to go to the restroom, carrying the coat in front of him. Psmith followed, somehow managing to bump repeatedly against Mike's back in the crowd, and groping at his buttocks in the process. By the time they reached the restroom Mike was convinced he could easily toss Psmith into a stall and have him right there, but one look at the crowd and that thought was squelched. There was a waiting line. He rolled his eyes and bit his lip.

"Perhaps you can wait," Psmith suggested. "Let us acquire a glass of wine, there may be something acceptable available."

Mike actually did want to urinate, but between the erection he was experiencing and the line he wasn't sure he'd be able to manage it during the intermission, anyway, so he nodded his assent and they stood in the slightly cooler lobby with their glasses, his arm getting tired of holding the coat up in front of him. He was wilting in more ways than one by the time the music swelled up to announce the second half.

"You're going to have to wait," Psmith said, "I'm sure you can."

Somehow he managed to wedge his lower leg against Mike's once they arrived back in their seats, and he resumed the tracings of his finger on the accessible thigh under the coat as well. Whenever the action of the play seemed to allow he would lean over, laying his other hand on Mike's arm or even touching his chest, whispering in his ear. Between that and the increasing pressure in his bladder, Mike's head was swimming by the end of the second half.

"I'm going to the restroom before we get in the cab," Mike announced as the curtain dropped.

"You can wait a bit longer, surely?"

"I will not," Mike announced, firmly, seizing Psmith's errant hand under the coat one last time as the row emptied to either side of them. "I'm waiting right here until the crowd clears a bit and then we're visiting the restrooms. I'm not taking no for an answer."

Psmith came as near a cheeky grin as he ever did. "You know I can't deny you anything when you insist."


	2. The Play After The Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because Peak_in_Darien demanded satisfaction for their frustrated lust.

As the last few of the other theatre patrons began walking up the aisles, Mike stood, again holding Psmith's coat in front of him, and Psmith followed him out of the row. When they reached the restrooms Mike took Psmith's hand and stalked along the sinks so he could look across underneath the stall doors and make sure there were no feet. As soon as he was sure there were not he pulled Psmith behind him into the stall at the end and slung his coat over the top of the door.

"There is not overmuch room in here, my ardent lover," Psmith jestingly complained.

"And it's going to feel like less," said Mike, crushing Psmith's body between himself and the divider wall so that it creaked ominously and attacking Psmith's mouth hungrily with his own. His hands couldn't decide what part of Psmith's body they wanted to feel the most, running madly over chest and back and buttocks. He clawed feverishly at clothing to get to the skin underneath, and one hand slid down the back of Psmith's trousers to cup and squeeze a smooth butt cheek, fingers immediately thereafter diving into the cleft.

By the noises Psmith made in his throat he divined this move was not rejected, but then he struggled and broke from Mike's kiss for a moment. "Good thing I brought this along," he said, holding up a small pot. "You can hail me for my remarkable forethought, now."

"Give it here! Forethought my ruddy buttocks - you planned all this and you know it!"

They struggled playfully over the pot of ointment for a moment, but Psmith soon removed the lid and Mike scooped some onto his first two fingers. He pushed Psmith's loosed trousers down to mid-thigh and slid the lubricated fingers into the cleft even as he dropped to his knees to closely observe the state of Psmith's arousal. He dropped a kiss on the sharp hip-bone before nuzzling into the tuft of crispy hair.

"Half up? How can you put me in a crazed state and you can be only half up?"

"Iron will," Psmith responded, smiling down, "I know you want to have something to do with your mouth."

"You've got that right," said Mike. He took the time to lick around the more dangly bits, but couldn't resist his goal for long. He hated hurrying this, but he had to piss like a racehorse and knew that he wouldn't be capable of doing so until he could release the pressure of this hard-on. The semi-limp shaft filled his mouth nicely, and he rolled around it with his tongue, adoring the softness of the skin and the way it was soon stretched over the inflating muscle beneath until the head at the back of his throat threatened to choke him, and adoring, too, the way Psmith's hand stroked his hair and ear gently and delicately, then clutched at the back of his head for a moment.

It was only when he began to move his head back and forth that he remembered where he had his other hand, and soon he had those fingers moving, massaging and testing that tense muscled opening, working the lubrication in, carefully, with one finger before adding a second. Psmith kept his noises small, but his breathing was quick. He offered the small pot again, and Mike pulled out (to a slight whimper from Psmith) and scooped up more of the ointment on a third, still clean, finger. This last addition drew a gasp from his friend, and small, urgent thrusts which hit the back of his throat.

Now the time had come when he had to bid goodbye to this part of Psmith which filled his mouth so nicely, for if he didn't stop now Psmith would be beyond stopping. Still, he pulled back regretfully, with a little kiss on the swollen head, before he slid back up Psmith's body and bit playfully at his neck.

"Lean over," he whispered, "And brace yourself on the toilet."

Psmith complied, but laid down some of the paper beneath his hands, commenting that the toilet was filthy.

Mike was just unbuckling his belt as Psmith made this comment, and a mischievous thought entered his mind. "Don't look at it. Close your eyes." He pulled the belt free of the loops and took an appraising look at his target, a gleaming moon before him, then hauled off and laid the end of the belt across Psmith's buttocks with a crack that drew a very gratifying yelp of surprise from Psmith. It wasn't often he could surprise his friend, so this made him grin, though he immediately felt a little regretful and smoothed the spot with his hand.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Did it hurt much? I shouldn't have."

"No. It really only stung. It's fine. I suppose it serves me right for teasing you so, before."

"That's true, isn't it? I believe you deserve it." He smacked him once more before he decided that was far too loud a noise to be making in this place. Besides which his arousal combined with his full bladder was now really quite painful. He hung the belt over the coat, pulled his trousers down, and, smoothing one hand over Psmith's delicate hip, nudged the head of his cock against the well oiled puckered hole that awaited it. With only a token show of resistance Psmith's body opened and welcomed him in, and he was soon buried to the hilt, and then moving, gratefully, joyously, sliding his hands over Psmith's tense back and sides and belly, enormously aroused by the fact that Psmith was still half-dressed and letting himself be fucked up the ass in a toilet stall. It took only moments before he tensed, then shuddered and gasped and released. The feeling of the tension and flow out of him was so overwhelmingly delicious that another mischievous thought occurred to him. Psmith was not quite done, yet, but Mike remained hard because of the pressure of his bladder, which was feeling bruised by now and desired release very intensely. He continued moving inside Psmith, grasping Psmith's shaft and stroking in syncopation.

It only took a few moments before Mike's erection began to soften and he felt able to allow himself the other release he so badly craved. After a moment Psmith made a startled noise, as he realized what Mike had done, and then convulsed beneath him, making a complete mess of the floor and the front of the toilet.

When he'd stopped shuddering and his breathing had slowed a bit he gasped, "My God. Did you really do what I think you did? Did you do that to me?" He paused. It seemed Psmith, for once, was nearly at a loss for words. "I feel so... full."

"I think I did," Mike said. "I'm sorry. I don't think it will hurt you any."

He grabbed a handfull of tissue and had it ready beneath to catch any messiness as he pulled out, gently and tenderly swiping at Psmith's cleft with one hand while looping the other around Psmith's chest to support him as he unsteadily got himself vertical. They supported each other for a moment, then Psmith let out his breath and said he needed to sit. He turned and dropped to sit on the toilet, holding his arms around his stomach, huddled, almost as though he were shivering. Goose bumps showed on his thighs.

Mike attempted to clean himself with the paper, which stuck and ripped most unsatisfactorally. He tried spitting on it, which just made the whole mess even worse, and finally gave up and started to pull up his trousers with his other hand, realized he'd get nowhere while still holding the bundle of tissue, and gestured to Psmith to let him drop it in the toilet. This had all gotten dreadfully awkward, suddenly, and he was horribly worried that he'd mortally offended Psmith.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

He could hear liquid being released into the toilet, and Psmith just stared straight ahead for the longest time, a slight frown furrowing his brow. Mike sidled nearer and pulled Psmith's head against his lower belly, smoothing his hair and neck and shoulders.

"I'm sorry. Are you okay?"

Quite suddenly all the noises ceased, and Psmith relaxed against him. After a moment or two he said, "You are an evil, evil beast to do such a disrespectful and degrading thing to me." He flung an arm around Mike's hips and clung to him, tightly. "I think I liked it." Tilted his head back, he grinned up, smugly. "Quite all right. In fact, I think I feel rather fine."

Mike smiled down at him. "I suppose I should clean up this mess, then." He pulled another handful of tissue from the rapidly diminishing roll and began to wipe up the front of the toilet and the floor. "Look at this, you got it all over the place. Couldn't you aim better? The toilet was right there."

"I was a bit distracted."

Mike laid a hand on his shoulder, then kissed him on top of the head, and offered him the last of the paper.


End file.
